A Heart of Ice
by JennaSW
Summary: "When did you decide to kill her?" Elsa Nepja has devoted her life to the craft of murder. When hunting for her next target, she found more than she had ever expected. Anna swiftly became more than just prey to her, but her desire to kill her was the only thing stronger than her desire to be with her. Modern AU, dark, not related, Elsanna


Author's Note: This story was inspired by both Hannibal's relationship with Will in Hannibal and Francis Dollarhyde's relationship with Reba in Red Dragon and its various adaptations. So, thank you Thomas Harris and Bryan Fuller. This will likely only be a one shot. I don't own the rights to Elsa or Anna, any other characters are my own creation.

* * *

"When did you decide to kill her?" Dr. Marella asks me as she scribbles in her notepad. I cringe at the sound of her pen scratching. All these years not leaving a trace of evidence and there I am in a file. I was done. People knew. They didn't know everything, but they knew enough that I would certainly never be able to kill again. All because of this girl – all because I let myself feel for my prey. Anna had been my undoing.

"It was when I saw her eyes," I respond finally. I've never been one for being open, particularly with a psychologist, my family had made sure of that. The honesty was difficult.

"Before you'd even met, then?" She verifies, writing another line in her notes.

"She was perfect. Her eyes shone with this innocence that seemed so at odds with her beauty. It was like she was a completely untainted soul," I explain, each word requiring more effort to dredge from within as I further damn myself.

"And you wanted to taint her?"

I stare at her, horrified. "Taint Anna?" The thought is disgusting. "No, I wanted to preserve her. I wanted her to be pure forever. I wanted to keep her."

"So you decided to kill her?" She asks, confused. I thought she was supposed to be an expert.

"How else do you keep someone from changing?"

She takes more notes. "Tell me how you first met. What happened? Why didn't you kill her then?"

I hesitate a moment. It's too late to back out now. Just tell her.

* * *

I sat in a dingy bar, a hundred miles away from home, pretending to enjoy a drink. It was only a tonic water, but everyone trusts a drunk girl. I was on the hunt. I was jonesing for a kill. I needed to find a new target. Everyone just looked so dull. Every single person in the bar looked so incredibly unfulfilled that I would have only been doing them a favor. I couldn't bring myself to add any of these lowlifes to my collection, they would corrupt the very nature of it. To satisfy myself with one of them would be to lower myself to the level of an animal. I had more self control than that, I wouldn't leap on the first prey I could find simply because I was so ravenous. I wouldn't rush it.

I decided it was time to leave. The kill could wait, I could resist the craving. Then I saw her. At first all I saw was red hair, pulled back in a pony tail. She was wearing a green knee-length dress with Uggs. She was almost pulling it off. She looked like a college girl out with her sorority, or perhaps someone a few years past that reliving their glory days. She seemed utterly uninteresting. Then she looked away from the bartender and her face turned towards me. My vision alighted on unspoiled teal. There was something in those eyes that called to me. It was more than just that innocence, it was like her very soul was beckoning me. I wanted to sink my blade into her more than I had ever wanted any other kill I could ever imagine. I could already smell her blood and see the light fade from those beautiful orbs of light. I could taste her death and it filled my every thought. I abandoned tact, and it was my undoing.

I approached her. Before I had even had time to process my thoughts, I was standing before her. This was unlike me. I study, I wait, I hunt. I don't leap without looking, and I certainly don't buy my prey a drink.

She thanked me and gave me a smile that melted my heart. I didn't think I could even feel anything there anymore, let alone that warmth. "I'm Anna," she said. I had only told the bartender to give her another of what she was drinking. I hadn't yet said a word to her. It wasn't too late to turn around, she wouldn't remember me. I was wearing a hoodie and jeans, with a brown wig hiding my platinum hair. I was just another face in the crowd.

"I'm Elsa," I responded with a smile. My body was acting without my permission. I was under her spell. I had just given my real name. I had to gain control over myself before I said anything more. This was absurd.

"Elsa," she mused. "That's a really pretty name." Her smile lit up her eyes again. I felt myself drowning in that blue-green sea.

"Elsa Anderson," I added, finally managing a lie. If I hadn't forced myself to establish some level of alias before I sunk any deeper into her I knew I would have drowned. I had to force distance. She was my prey, I couldn't allow another mistake like that. "I'm new around here. It's nice meeting you."

"Well why don't you stick around?" she asked, swishing her hips as she grew so close I could smell her. Even the scent of her called to me – somewhere between flowers and a fine wine. I savored it. "It's not every day a cute girl buys me a drink."

I hesitated. I wasn't used to people flirting with me. In my line of work people leave you alone. I was content like that, I didn't need anyone else. For only a moment, she made me doubt that. I'll never forgive her for that. All I should have needed was my kill and she made me want more. It made me want to kill her all the more. "I find that hard to believe, a girl like you," I responded. I may have been flirting, it wasn't something I'd ever done before, so it was difficult to be sure.

She blushed. I would have rather seen the color drain from her, but watching her cheeks redden had an effect on me. My own face warmed in response as I stared at her. "Come sit with us, I'll introduce you to my friends," she invited me.

The heat vanished from my face as my eyes widened. That was far too many witnesses. Even with my disguise, it wasn't impossible that someone would be able to identify me later, and they would all know my first name. I couldn't take that risk. "I'd rather get you alone," I responded honestly, choosing to double down rather than run away. I didn't expect it to work.

Her blush intensified and she stammered. "I hadn't planned. I mean I," she gulped. "I wasn't expecting that." She looked back towards her friends. I was certain she was going to refuse and I could catch her, drunk and vulnerable, when they went their separate ways. Instead, she turned back and replied, "I'll go tell them I'm heading out." She chugged her drink and walked away from me. I stared after her in shock.

This was so easy. I had already picked out a perfect spot to take her. No one would hear her scream, and I wouldn't leave a scrap of evidence. Everything was perfect. I would take her to my car, saying that I was still good to drive, and by the time she realized anything was amiss, it would be too late.

Then she kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm and foreign. This wasn't what I had wanted, and yet it felt so right. She took my hand and led me to the door. I started to wonder if I'd been wrong. Maybe she was there for the same reason I was. Why else would it be so easy? I began to grow certain that she was also trying to get me alone, that she had a knife or a piano wire waiting in her purse for my throat. I started to develop a certain respect for the girl. She would never expect that I would be the one ensnaring her instead.

I was beginning to plan out how I would respond if she made the first move when I noticed her look up at me, staring into my eyes as we left the building. She immediately tripped, not noticing that the ground was a good half foot below the door frame. I caught her. "Tipsy, more like tripsy," she laughed. I resisted dropping her as I groaned at the pun. "You're pretty strong," she remarked. I was still holding her. I'll admit, part of me didn't want to right her, holding her was rather nice, if not quite as nice as holding her heart would have been.

"I work out," I replied lamely, as I helped her to her feet. Her smile only grew.

"Wanna call a cab? We can go back to my place," she offered, staring into my eyes.

I recoiled slightly at the invasion. I was not used to being noticed. I had devoted my life to staying under the radar, and being instead under the microscope felt wrong. I felt naked. "I'm all right to drive," I explained.

"Really?" She asked incredulously. She wasn't used to anyone coming back from the bar able to stand, let alone drive. "Well I suppose I shall place my life in your hands, yet again," she agreed playfully.

I smirked, knowing precisely how true that was, and giddy at the idea of taking that life. She misread the smile as being over something far more lewd and blushed. I escorted her to my car, still convinced that she had the same ulterior motive that I did. It seemed unlikely that she was faking the intoxication, however, based on how strongly it smelled on her breath. Splashing some bourbon on your collar is a good way to imitate that, but the scent alternated whenever she opened or closed her mouth, and I could taste it on her when she kissed me. There was no way to fake it that completely. I knew that I would have the advantage if she attempted an attack.

* * *

"You really thought she was trying to kill you?" Dr. Marella asks, taking more notes. "Just because she was willing to leave with you? Surely it wasn't your first time."

I stare at her. I hate these questions. "No, it wasn't my first time, and I've never had any issue with convincing people to be alone with me. The trouble was I didn't have to convince her. I didn't pull any tricks, she was too eager. There was no reason she should have been acting like she was. Her wanting to kill me was the only logical explanation."

"Of course, you know better now," she retorts.

"Are you gonna let me tell the story or not?" I ask, annoyed. _Of course, I know better now._

* * *

Before long we arrived at her apartment. It wasn't where I meant to drive her. I had my kill site picked out. Everything was ready, and taking her there would have been so easy. Why didn't I? It didn't make any sense. There was no reason for me to be at her apartment. I would be leaving evidence. My fingerprints would be everywhere, some hair follicles could escape from under the wig, skin cells, maybe even bodily fluids if things continued as they seemed to be. There was absolutely no justification for my being there, and yet there I was.

She kissed me again, and I tensed, waiting for her to draw a weapon. If she was planning on killing me, I had walked right into her web. No one knew where I was and I had no reason to be in this town. She could dispose of my body and my car and no one would ever be the wiser. Had I just taken her to my intended destination this wouldn't have been an issue. I even had chloroform in my car so I could have knocked her out if she started to freak out when I wasn't following her directions.

She started to pull away, feeling my tension, but I kissed back, pulling her to me, bathing in her warmth. I wanted to feel her against me, to see her under me, to look into those eyes and call her mine. It was a strange feeling. I was much more comfortable with wanting to see the light leave those eyes. I still wanted that, but this new desire was overwhelming me. Perhaps I really had drowned.

I felt her flesh against mine. Both of our shirts were gone. I didn't even recall taking off my jacket, let alone the shirt. I wondered if she drugged me. I clearly wasn't myself. I was always a paradigm of control. The loss of that control was terrifying, exhilarating, and freeing. She looked down at me. She was on top of me in her bed. I was clearly not paying enough attention to some very interesting events.

She leaned down and I expected another kiss, but instead, her lips found my neck. She didn't bite, she didn't rip out my throat, she instead left a trail of wet kisses down to my collarbone. It felt so intimate. In that moment, I felt closer to her than I ever had anyone else. I was lost in her.

* * *

"Why do you think you didn't kill her that night?" Dr. Marella asks, interrupting my story yet again.

"I don't know."

"You don't have any idea?" Her pen scratches across the notepad. I hate that sound so much.

"Are you going to insist it's because I was in love with her?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Were you?"

"We had just met. I didn't know a thing about her."

"You knew enough to want to kill her. Why should loving her take so much more?"

I stare at the psychologist. If I had my way I would just storm out of here and never talk to this bitch again, but here I am, trapped, forced to bare my soul to some overbearing doctor who thinks she understands people. "I don't know! Okay? I have no idea what made her special and it scares the hell out of me. _She_ scares the hell out of me. I should not have dated the woman I was going to kill. It throws out all deniability. It guarantees evidence. It ruins everything, and it did, it's what put me here. I should have just put a knife in her that night, and instead I destroyed the life I'd spent years building for myself. She destroyed me."

"So you do feel," the woman mocks me. Tears cloud my eyes. "Such strong emotions would suggest that you don't have ASPD. It's unusual to say the least."

"When did I ever suggest that I don't feel?" I ask, confusion clear on my face. "I'm not a monster."

This seems to elicit a shudder from the psychologist. She's as disgusted with me as I am, though for very different reasons. How unprofessional of her. "Then how could you kill someone?" She's clearly shaken, her neutral facade is fading.

"Well, if I were to have ever killed someone, it would have been for the pleasure, certainly. Hard to enjoy that if you're just an unfeeling shell." I'm retreating into myself again. Anna would be disappointed in me. I'm not willing to confess, I won't give any more evidence than I absolutely have to. I have betrayed my nature enough without doing so.

She glares at me. For an expert in psychopaths, she sure doesn't seem to like me much. "Why do you _allegedly_ kill people?" She asked, emphasizing the word.

"Well if it were true, like I said, it would be because it's fun."

"I don't believe that. There's something deeper there. Did something happen in your childhood?"

"Oh so now is when you ask me about my mother? I'd been waiting for that. Oh, she was so terrible she locked me under the stairs."

"You weren't Harry Potter."

"No. I wasn't. My parents were perfect. I just allegedly like killing people. Do you want more to the story, or is now when you ask if I tortured small animals as a child?" I'm not even bothering to hide my annoyance anymore.

"Did you?" She asks, sounding almost bored.

"No. Why would I want to hurt an animal?"

She jots that down. She can feel that she's losing me. "Skip ahead to your next date, I don't need all the sordid details of your first night together."

* * *

I was wearing my brown wig, a low-cut blue top, and black slacks with flats. I'm not big on clothes that I couldn't reasonably fight in. This was still attracting too much attention for my comfort though. I hate emphasizing my curves, but I couldn't exactly try to make myself uglier for a date.

I sat at a corner table in the Italian restaurant waiting for her. Just as I was starting to realize how insane this idea was, and that I should just chalk the whole thing up to a loss and pick a new target, she arrived. She took my breath away. Her hair was down and cascaded over her shoulders, curling slightly, just barely touching the straps of a ruffled, floor-length, brown dress which exposed a large portion of her modest chest. All thoughts of retreat ironically fled from my head.

I stood up and pulled out a chair for her. She giggled as she thanked me and sat down. "It's good to see you again," I admitted. It had been an entire week. We'd had breakfast together the morning after we first met and exchanged numbers, but I claimed I was busy with work. She actually lived two hours away, so going after work was unrealistic. I, fortunately, had the following weekend off, and we made plans.

"It's good to see you too," she agreed. "I was starting to worry you were avoiding me."

"Sorry, I've just been really busy with work. It's the first chance I've had to see you."

"I suppose I'll forgive you," she decided, mercifully. "What do you do? You never said."

"I'm an accountant," I lied. It was such a boring response that no one ever asked for more information.

"Really? That must be interesting. What's your day normally like? Have you been managing some famous person's money all week? Is that why you've been so busy? Was it an audit?" She asked, her eyes alight with interest. Those damn eyes would be the death of me.

I started. I had done enough research that I was pretty sure I could lie my way through this convincingly, but no one had ever asked before. "Oh, nothing so interesting as that. It's tax season and that means that we have a lot more to deal with than usual, which means more people calling out sick, which means more work for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That has to be annoying. I had originally planned on being an accountant, I figured it was a good reliable job, you know? It's not something that's ever gonna just stop being needed. I actually have my degree in it, but I was hired by a local bank straight out of college, and never technically applied my trade, so I wondered what it was like." She was staring at me in utter fascination. "How'd you end up in the field?"

I returned her stare. No one wants to be an accountant, why the hell would she? It had been a reliable cover every other time anyone had ever asked my career. What the hell could I even say? She actually was one.

"You're not missing much, it's not fun," I allowed. "I thought about the same as you did, it's a good steady job that's always hiring. It's pretty much just mindlessly entering numbers from one form into another. I'm sure your job is better."

"It probably is," she agreed, "I just feel bad that I never managed to find out. My job pays me pretty well, I have great benefits, and I've already earned a few promotions. I'm definitely not complaining, it's just so cool that you're actually an accountant!"

* * *

"How did she respond when she found out you were lying?" Dr. Marella inquires. _I thought psychologists were supposed to just listen and take notes, why is she always interrupting?_

"What makes you think she ever did?" I ask.

"Something had to change or you wouldn't be here. I know you didn't kill her then, so clearly you two continued dating for a while. Eventually, something had to slip, I assume that's why I'm talking to you now."

"Suffice to say she didn't take it well," I sigh.

"No, I need actual details, this is important." She stared emphatically at me across the room from her desk chair.

"You sure you don't want to just hear more about my childhood? Figure out where it all went wrong? I'm sure there's some juicy stuff there," I suggest.

"Your avoidance only makes it more obvious that this is where we need to go. How did she find out?"

* * *

We'd been dating for a little over a month, but we'd only seen each other five times. I'm still not sure why I hadn't killed her yet, there had to be evidence of me all over her apartment by that point. I needed to end it. I needed to pick someone else. I needed to do anything other than what I did – keep dating her.

We were in bed together, watching television, when it finally happened. A strand of hair had escaped from the bobby pins and the wig cap. One single strand of pale blonde hair fell across my cheek, standing out in stark contrast to the tawny locks that fell to the middle of my back. Anna noticed it immediately and stared at it quizzically. "Is that a gray hair?" she asked, grabbing it. As she lifted it up to investigate, she saw how it slightly pulled the wig up with it. "Elsa, you wear a wig?"

I started to panic. I knew this was nothing, but it was still a seam coming lose. As she pulled on it, I was certain everything would unravel. I felt words coming up through my throat. Words that I should not say, words that made no sense for anyone to say. If I said them then I would have to go ahead and kill her anyway, and I was finally starting to think that I might not actually want to do that. "Yes," I began, waiting for the rest of the words to tumble out.

"Why?" She asked, still staring at the strand of hair in her hand. "Your real hair is beautiful."

In response, I removed the wig, wincing as the bobby pins pulled my hair. I let the platinum blonde hair fall loose and shook my head once to toss it out of my eyes. She stared at me transfixed, her eyes filled with love. I couldn't lie to her anymore. The dam broke. "I wear it so that people can't recognize me."

"Why, are you famous?"

That would certainly be a good lie, albeit an easily disproved one. I reached desperately for any lie I could find, only for the truth to continue spilling forth unbidden. "No, I'm not famous. I just sometimes do things that I'd rather not be traced back to me." I was so close to saying it, to owning up to something that would destroy her.

She edged away from me slightly, pushing herself against the wall, cornering her, confusion replacing the love in her eyes. "Like what?"

"Like hunting down strangers and killing them," I found myself saying. My eyes went wide. I couldn't believe I had really said that. The widening of her eyes in response was the only reason I believed that I truly had. "My names not even Anderson, it's Nepja. A lot less forgettable, isn't it? My name really is Elsa though, I'd never admitted to that part before."

Her back was completely against the wall and she looked like she wanted to go further and pass through it. She was crying. "What are you talking about? This isn't funny."

"I'm not joking," I said sadly. There were only two explanations for this behavior: either I had actually fallen for this girl or I had a brain tumor. Both seemed about equally unlikely. "I wish I was."

"Elsa, you could never hurt anyone, I know you. You're so sweet and caring. Elsa, I love you!" It was the first time she'd ever said it. I wished she hadn't. Not like that.

"I love you too," I admitted, tears falling from my eyes to match hers. "It's why I'm not willing to lie anymore."

"Then you shouldn't have lied in the first place!" she screamed. I expected her to jump from the bed, to grab her cell phone or a weapon, to do anything, but she only sat there, staring at me in shock, as tears obscured her vision.

"I know." I hesitated. I couldn't explain why I was even considering saying it, that was going way too far. I had already gone too far, I wasn't even sure where telling her I had planned on killing her would fall on the map.

"But if you didn't lie then people would have known who you were after you killed me. They could track you down," she said in a dull monotone, her voice sounding almost mechanical as the pieces fell together.

"That's right," I acknowledged without moving, my tears falling on the sheets.

"Why haven't you then? Have you just been toying with me? Has our entire relationship been some sick game?!" she cried, emotion returning to her voice.

I don't know why that hurt so much. It was almost the truth, I shouldn't have felt so betrayed that she could think that of me. "Because I fell in love with you," I sobbed. "I meant to do it that first night, I had the spot picked out, but for some reason I took you home instead. I couldn't figure out why I did it, but instead of killing you I spent the night with you. Then another and another. I don't know if I already loved you that first night, but I couldn't manage to bring myself to kill you."

Anna only stared at me in response. Words seemed to have escaped her for the moment, her thoughts an unformed mess. We stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours. "Are you going to kill me?" she finally asked, breaking the silence. She didn't sound scared, only waiting for her fate.

"No," I responded. I was surprised, I'd been readying myself to follow through with my initial plan since I'd started this confession. I thought maybe I'd only wanted the absolution of confession before I plunged the knife into her, but I finally knew then that there was no way I could ever bring myself to do it. The silence resumed for another minute. "I could never," I added eventually.

"I'm going to call the police," she answered, her voice sounding uncertain.

"I understand, that's definitely the most logical course of action," I replied coolly, unable to bring myself to stop her.

She continued to stare at me and didn't reach for her phone. "Get counseling," she said suddenly.

"What?" I asked, her words not even beginning to make sense to me.

"You can either go get therapy for this or I'm calling the cops. You didn't kill me, so maybe it's possible to treat you. I love you, Elsa, and if you're willing to get help then I'm willing to stay with you." She stopped trying to phase through the wall. She even stopped crying. She sat up and inched slowly toward me until her hand rested on my cheek. "Please get help."

"I can't tell a therapist about this, I'd go to prison," I insisted.

"You'll go to prison if I call the police too. There're confidentiality laws. If you're not going to hurt anyone, they can't tell anyone," she reasoned.

Realization struck me. She didn't mean that I had to receive counseling to help me not kill her. I couldn't kill anyone ever again. My life as I knew it would be over. I should have just killed her then and scrubbed the apartment clean, it was unlikely I would have ever been found. "I'm not really an accountant," I said, apropos of nothing, hoping that it would finally make her freak out enough that she would stop trying to save me.

"That doesn't surprise me at this point," she responded, her hand still on my cheek, her teal eyes filled with concern as they stared into mine. I had drowned in those eyes when we first met, and now she was trying to save me with them.

"Okay," I said quietly. I'd do it. I would do anything to be able to keep looking into those eyes. I would do anything for her.

* * *

"So that's how I got here. You said you wanted to know why I came to see you, well that's it. I'm just so selfish that I want to keep her," I spit sardonically. I was already at Anna's mercy, I hate being at hers too.

"That doesn't sound selfish," Dr. Marella responds, her voice warm for the first time I've ever heard. "You want to be worthy of her love. Being willing to give up everything for her is incredibly selfless. You're not hopeless, I can help you."

"You're not serious," I insist. I'm way past saving.

"I can't fix you, I can't remove that desire, but I can help you care, I can help you resist it, and I can help you be a better person. In time, it may even come naturally. We've had a good first session, and I think I've figured out a lot of what we need to focus on. Elsa, you're not hopeless, we can get through this together."

I hold back the tears from my eyes as I stare at her incredulously. "I'm not hopeless?" I ask. I had never thought of myself with that word before, but at the same time, I think I had never stopped thinking of myself as it. I was convinced this was just who I am, to the point that I had devoted my entire life to my killing. Every fiber of who I am was defined by it. I was going to destroy myself so that I could be with Anna. I suppose that's one last kill.

"You're not." She stands and hands me some tissues. "Does the same time next week work for you?"

I nod in response. "I'll be here," I add as I rise from the couch. She shakes my hand before I leave.

Anna is sitting in the waiting room, staring into space. I make it half-way to her before she notices me. "Elsa?" she asks, the rest of the question remaining unsaid.

"She'll take me as a patient," I answer, "she says she can help me."

Anna wraps her arms around me in a tight embrace. I love her. Somehow she even loves me. She's worth this.


End file.
